This is probably the best way to word this, I think I'm a broken college student.
The reason I say this is, I don't enjoy frat parties. There are lots of people who love frat parties - males and females alike. Males love them for the fact there are countless drunk ladies parading around in little clothing who are more than willing to go home with you if you appear hot in their blazed gaze. Females love frat parties because they get attention, can dance risque, drink as much as they want, and boost their self esteem by getting hit on by lots of scummy males. Win for everyone!
Okay, so that sounds super judgmental and jerky, but it's from experience anyway. I have never seen an upstanding and respectable male there hitting on a lady in a fancy black cocktail dress. And it's true, it's not like you'd go to a frat party hoping to cement yourself a loving relationship out of a drunken one night stand. I get it. You go there to have no strings attached fun.
The thing is...I don't want that kind of "fun". I can meet drunken moron-males anywhere. I don't need to go to a frat party to do that. I can find scantily clad women pretty much anywhere, don't need to go to a frat party to do that. On top of that they generally have the crappiest songs playing from a crappy sound system. So you can pretend to enjoy the music, but chances are you don't even know the crappy song blaring from the speaker that's so fuzzy you can't make out if it's saying "slap the ho's" or "potatoes". Which if you're at a frat party it could legitimately be either...
You can get some stupid bimbo that smacks into you while "dancing" on the dancefloor that's really just flailing like a chicken. I have yet to understand what anyone needs a backpack on in the middle of the dancefloor anyway, but it's no wonder someone is seconds away from punching her. There's only so much you can take being bumped into every five seconds. There's also the girl in the middle of the hallway who gestures too widely and throws her beer right into your face and covers you in beer that isn't even the good stuff. So you smell like the guy five feet away from you who clearly has tossed his cookies more than a few times already tonight.
You get the slurring males coming up to you asking you to sleep with him. The drunken lady winking at you from across the dancefloor that is trying too hard and goes home alone. You leave soaked in beer, hair messed from being jumped on the dancefloor, and with a throbbing headache.
Yes. I miss those nights. I am broken.
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